Volume III/Issue 2

 

Illinois Central Review
Volume III/Issue 2

Letter from the Editor

 

Artwork

Jeanne by Curtis Cook

RIP Matthew Perry by Natalie Scott

 

Multimedia

Digital Soul by Sky Ryerson

 

Poetry

Untitled by Eliza Alms

Sing, O' Muse, of the Rage of Achilles by Xavier Bugos

ladybug love by Violet Easley

Childhood Home by Dinah Henry

The Sounds of Education by Scott Jackson

Futile Persistence by Alex Kimberlin

To Do by Matthew Land

Walk a Mile by Matthew Land

My Grandmother's Pink Nightgown by James Lester

Little Godzilla by Logan Lewis

Some Friend You Were by Logan Lewis

Drowned Tapestries by Alanna Magstadt

Crack Another Beer by Troy Mitchell

Заменять by Adarina Norberg

To Be Known by Natalie Scott

Dear Insincerity by Abigail Stanton

A Tidbit of Advice by Abigail Stanton

Stance by John Tuccillo

The ICC Labyrinth by Daniel Ware

 

Fiction

Babbs, 1998 by Arwen Skye Bullock

The King of Bramblewood by Cameron Miller

 

Personal Essays/Narrative Nonfiction

Milking Disaster by Silas Rassi 

Letter from the Editor

Dear Readers, 

It's a joy and an honor to share with you the latest issue of Illinois Central Review!

This is the sixth issue since our first publication in January 2022, and I am continually amazed by the new depths of creativity by Illinois Central College's students. 

While it's not the largest issue in terms of number of pieces, it is the largest issue in terms of the number of contributors. There are 21 students published in this issue! Another exciting milestone for this issue is we are publishing our first multimedia piece, "Digital Soul" by Sky Ryerson. Additionally, the issue features artwork, lots of poetry, short stories, and a personal essay. 

Illinois Central Review is currently accepting submissions for its next issue, which will be published in January 2025. The deadline to submit is December 1, and you can do so here: Volume IV/Issue 1 Submission Form. 

Remember, submissions are open to all students taking classes at ICC, including those in the Dual Enrollment and Strong Start programs through Early College. 

Finally, I invite you to visit the Illinois Central Review Facebook page for updates and weekly features of this issue's contributions. 

I hope you enjoy this issue. Thank you for taking a look! 

In writing, 

Melissa Grunow
English Professor
Department of Humanities

Jeanne

 By Curtis Cook

-

About the Artist

Curtis Clayton is an artist located in Streator, IL. He is known for his Central Illinois drag performances with influences of horror and various artworks. He is not a Drag Queen but rather an artist whose preferred canvas is a face.

RIP Matthew Perry

 By Natalie Scott

- 

About the Artist

Natalie Scott is an English major at ICC. She is planning to pursue a career in either Journalism or in the book publishing industry. She has been an avid reader and writer her whole life, and is excited to one day make an impact with her words.

Digital Soul

 By Sky Ryerson

-

About the Author

Sky Marie is a student currently at ICC. She has no degree plan, but is taking every art class and wants to make movies and TV shows based on her stories. She wishes to advocate for silent voices and a better political and law system through commentary in her work. One step at a time, she wants to make a bigger difference in the world then just entertaining the brain dead and making people think.

Untitled

 By Eliza Alms

-

it’s fine

in 10 years i won’t think much about you

except

for nights after

i’ve put my baby down to sleep

it’s a girl.

you always wanted one.

she’s beautiful and sweet

just the way you said she’d be.

but i’ll think about the son

i longed for.

and the way that

his name is yours

simply, number 4.

About the Author

Eliza is a writer from Peoria, IL. In her free time she enjoys reading, biking, and exploring nature. The main inspiration for her writing comes from lived experience, love, and appreciation for nature. Though the wording in her poetry is often simple in its form that is how she best feels she is able to communicate her emotions and feelings through her writing.

Sing, O' Muse, of the Rage of Achilles

 By Xavier Bugos

-

“Sing, O’ muse, the Rage of Achilles”

Hark to his tragic story, a tale of endless fury

Feel his wrath deep in your bones, when he realizes in this world he is alone

See the tears stream from his maddened eyes, as the demon named Hector severed his lovers earthly ties

Taste the crimson mist he spreads through the air, as his lovers blood stains his golden hair

Smell the sweet scent of the lasting ambrosia, that encased his lovers body to keep its composure

This, O’ muse, is the Rage of Achilles,

The hatred of his stains the Earth's Lily’s

He does not care that his final breaths draw near, For he so welcomes the death all mortals fear.

Now watch as his spear drives through Hector’s throat, and listen as his mother’s cries float,

Up to the gods do her deafened pleas ring,

But the gods are not to touch this war torn king.

About the Author

Xavier Bugos is a Junior in high school currently working on getting his associates through the dual degree program. He will graduate with both his associates and his high school diploma in May of 2025. He's used poetry as a means of expressing his feelings since he was in middle school and has even been featured in his high schools Bloom poetry book three years in a row.

ladybug love

 By Violet Easley

-

two ladybugs met, just

on the side of the road.

one light and one spotted.

the light to the spotted said

“if i am a ladybug

and you are a ladybug

then we must belong!

our wings are round

shelly, and yellow

you’re a good fella, 

let’s get dinner togetha!”

so the ladybugs went,  towards their new home, hand in hand, to together forever.

About the Author

Violet Easley is a student here at Illinois Central College. From a young age, she has enjoyed creative writing as it allows her to express herself in a way that spoken word often fails. In February 2022, she won Second Place in the Carl Sandburg Poetry Contest with her entry “In a Man’s World." This work was published by Carl Sandburg in a small collection later that year. In her free time, she enjoys baking, running, writing, and drinking coffee. Through her writing, she hopes to inspire many others about the power writing can hold, and how expressive it can be of oneself.

Childhood Home

 By Dinah Henry

-

Sometimes, I pretend that my childhood home was more a mansion than a house. I remember memories that would replay over and over in my childhood home. I never knew that my childhood home was haunted because I remember seeing and hearing things that were unbelievable, but yet, still so real to me. I remember the staircase that went upstairs to my room although, they were two in half flights of stairs, and a chandelier that I would always stare at and dreamed that it was the sun in my childhood home. I remember watching a lot of TV shows that I sometimes would want to watch as I did in my childhood home. I remember my childhood home was by a school that I went to for a year in a half. I remember that my childhood home didn’t have a porch, but had a big backyard that was street to street. I remember having more family members in my childhood home than I do now. I sometimes don’t remember waking up in my parents room, when I started sleeping in my room at my childhood home. This place was more mysterious inside than the house was looking outside, just like a normal family home.  Sometimes, I wish my childhood home was my adult home more because the bigger it was, the more space I have. I never knew I would grow up in four different homes because I thought my childhood home would always stay as my home. I never knew my childhood home wasn’t gonna be my forever home because one day I had to let go of that place that was so dear to me. My childhood home is still so dear to me, but yet, there are so many places I have been to that are dear to me as well. In my dreams, I sometimes still live in my childhood home, even though I don’t live there anymore. My childhood home knew the person of who I was, but didn’t know the person that I am now. There could be so many places that I could describe to you but there is a reason why I chose my childhood home. It’s the place that I always go back to in my head, even though I am not there now. My childhood home was one of the many places that led me to where I am today. Now, I hope you know the reason why I chose to describe my childhood home.

About the Author

Dinah is a student at ICC and she usually writes poetry and others things. Most of time you can find her being herself or with her bestie Logan in class. She mostly likes to write when music is playing or do something else to help her think of what to write about. She already has three poems in this magazine, so you should definitely read them. She wants to be a author in the future. Mostly a poetry author and maybe fiction. She tends to make a lot of projects for other people, so if you see her or her friends with something made out of yarn that means she made it. Dinah is mostly a very shy student. She hopes that you love her work and will please tell her how good it is to make her more confident.

The Sounds of Education

 By Scott Jackson

-

Wind blowing while exiting the vehicle

The attempted closing of the vehicle door that fails due to the seat belt caught in the door

Adjustments of said seat belt leading to the door closing correctly

Footsteps walking on cement

A female student talking about how her hip is still quivering to her girl friend

Doors opening then closing behind 

A moment or two of silence

Footsteps walking and sometimes dragging across carpet

The soft clang of footsteps on stairs going downward to the lower level

A professor instructing his students at a high-volume level

More footstep along the carpet

A classroom clapping in a round of applause

Little children crying laughing talking

An air hand dryer from a bathroom

Upon sitting down waiting for class the unique sounds of education continue

A trumpet practicing in a classroom in one direction

Hearing a chorus singing down the hall the other

Feet walking along the hallway

Hearing the original TMNT cartoon TV theme song playing in a classroom nearby

Piano being played in another classroom further down the hall

A Professor clearing their throat walking down the hallway

Packages being delivered to an office

More doors opening and closing

Stomping of feet as maybe an upset or angry student walk by

Hearing the old Disney animated film song “Be Our Guest” playing in a classroom down the hall for a minute 

Talking between two professors

Papers changing on a hallway bulletin board

A metal cart being pushed along

Two students asking for another student’s phone number to seek out a trumpet

The merging of talking and a piano playing down the hall including some laughter

Opera is now playing in a classroom nearby

A bookbag drops on the carpeted floor

The voice of a friend talking

The sound of the professor opening the classroom door for your class

Numerous feet walking into the classroom as you enter as well

Chairs moving and people setting in them 

Their bookbags dropping to the floor and tables

The professor typing and preparing his lecture for this class

About the Author

Scott Jackson is a native of Central Illinois where he lives with his girlfriend and four cats. He loves video games, musicals, comic books, 80s and 90s nostalgia, Doctor Who, and overall, a good story to enjoy. After finally reaching his limits with retail work, he decided to re-invent himself by going back to school to pursue his dream of becoming a writer and teacher. In his spare time, he picks up extra roles in films, works with a local community theatre, and works on his next novels.

Futile Persistence

 By Alex Kimberlin

-

I can feel you

smoothing me over.

Ignoring all my

rough edges.

You cut your finger

and blame me

for slicing 

you open.

About the Author

Alex Kimberlin is twenty years old and is pursuing a degree in both Chemistry and English. He enjoys writing poems and short stories in his spare time.

To Do

 By Matthew Land

-

• 

  Go to the movies

• 

  Visit a coffee shop

• 

  Go vinyl shopping

• 

  Visit the zoo

• 

  Do a puzzle

• 

  Build Legos 

• 

  Go book shopping

• 

  Go thrifting

• Grow old together

About the Author

Matthew Land is a student majoring in English who recently began writing poetry. He loves the outdoors, reading, working on cars and spending time with friends and family.

Walk a Mile

 By Matthew Land

-

Dangling bloody shoes

coagulated souls

rusted aglets hold

frayed laces. Struggling

to hold the form.

holes let the 

cold in and

welcomes filth.

So take my  shoes and

About the Author

Matthew Land is a student majoring in English who recently began writing poetry. He loves the outdoors, reading, working on cars and spending time with friends and family.

My Grandmother's Pink Nightgown

 By James Lester

-

My grandmother’s pink nightgown.

Must have been made of dust.

Little bunnies in the factory, sewing together mites.

It looks like it started being.

made on the day she was conceived.

A gown as old and dignified as she.

Actually, let’s not speak lies about the dead.

She was miserable.

Not just her health.  Her whole mentality.

On the farm, if she ever had a dress.

In all its glory.  Still.  Covered with some dirt.

Milking cows

Killing chickens

Riding a tractor in her gown.

Her dress was never clean.

My grandmother’s pink nightgown.

That’s what I remember.

Her shuffling around the house.

Cigarette clenched between her talons.

Muttering at my grandpa…

My grandmother’s pink nightgown.

My grandmother’s mother’s pink nightgown.

My mother remembers her grandmother's pink nightgown.

She was old and bitter.  Filled 

with pompous pride.

A life of dreams that only stayed as clouds.

My grandma wore pants for most of her career.

She was a secretary at a dentist’s office.

I remember she would work while the rest of the office was on vacation.

She would bring me to spend the day with her.

Letting me click the buttons for the patient rooms.

I taught her how to play solitaire on her work computer.

My grandmother’s pink nightgown.

As she lays dying in the bed.

A sense of comfort as we see her off to sleep.

As I watch her gown vanish into the night.

A strange sense of obligation as we put that

pink night gown into a black body bag.

Be strong.

Be like grandma.

I wear my grandmother’s pink nightgown,

with pompous pride.

I could be half as

spiteful, bitter, resentful

petty, jealous, judgmental, loving, caring, nosey.

Knows what’s right for everyone.

Somebody who genuinely pissed me off, with her inability to listen.

or change her mind. but somehow still open minded.

Just straight up unpleasant.

Somehow really caring.  Planned every holiday.

Woke up to cook Thanksgiving dinner at 4am.

Spent a month buying Christmas presents for everybody.

Baked Christmas cookies for weeks at the same time.

No, shit she was bitter.

She spent so much time doing everything for every family member.

She never really did anything for her.

Bail me out of jail at 3am.

Bail my cousin out with property taxes.

Bail my mom out of alcohol addiction.

Those are just the easy things to list.

So, I imagine after a life of extremely laborious work on the farm.

Then being the bread winner in a family with five girls.

Then dealing with those five daughters, 

her lazy fucking grandchildren, and one set of great grand kids.

Maybe in her old age she was bitter.

Maybe the love for her husband had faded

and she was stuck ‘til death.

Because she let him leech off her for,

“Oh, I don’t know, my entire lifetime.”

So, then maybe when I’m talking to her.

She’s heard enough.

Who am I to question her beliefs?

You don’t want to celebrate Christmas! FINE!

I’m not doing this for me.

I hope you have happy memories.

Unlike the ones I had when I was living on the farm.

In that dirty dress, milking cows before school.

I did all this for you,

you unappreciative little bastard.

My grandmother’s pink nightgown.

I took her to her 60th class reunion towards the end.

I’m lucky to have that memory.

About the Author

James Lester is an adjunct instructor and student at Illinois Central College. He teaches mathematics and obsessively listens to Hip-Hop. He took a creative writing class to learn how to write poetry.